


Bickering

by quicksparrows



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: F/M, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 19:09:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6483964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quicksparrows/pseuds/quicksparrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Siblings do as siblings do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bickering

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this when the game came out. I never posted it. That's the Way of Jenn.

"You dress better since you became close with Ned," Evie says as she braids her hair. Jacob snorts and Evie gives him an unimpressed look through the mirror. 

"Are you sore that you couldn't rub off on me in twenty-some years?" Jacob asks, wryly.

"Well, it is a little offensive, given I've had to stand next to you and your threadbare coats and scuffed elbows for twenty-some years," Evie says. "But I will take what I get. Give Ned my thanks for untangling your...." She trails and gives him a _look._ "Priorities."

"Ah-ah. Do not confuse my dressing nicer with a change in priorities," Jacon says. "Ned just knows his way around a gentleman's wardrobe."

"He does dress nicely," Evie says.

"Nicer than Greenie, that's for sure," Jacob says. "Running about the city in ladies' underlinens, practically!"

Evie turns at that, as if giving him a deadpan look through the mirror could not possibly convey how unimpressed she is.

"They're not underlinens, you dolt," she says. "It would do you well to respect Mr. Green. He does outrank you."

"If rank mattered in a Brotherhood of three people, perhaps I'd care," Jacob says, "but as it is, he sits in your study and reads books. Hardly an Assassin."

Evie just rolls her eyes at him and goes back to braiding her hair, fingers working nimbly behind her own head. Jacob isn't sure how the fuck she does it, but she's done it since they were children and never once has she asked for his input on whether it's crooked or not. (Not that it ever has been, Evie being _Evie_ , but Jacob is always sore when he doesn't fine something to prod at.)

"You _do_ know that being an Assassin is more about ideology than number of kills, right?" Evie says.

"I-dee-o-lo-gee?"

"Oh good, you can pronounce it," she says. "There's a good start, Jacob."

Jacob has half a mind to tell her that he's fucking Ned just to really catch her off guard, get her words mixed up. Take her down a peg! Much as he loves his sister, she's a goddamned priss sometimes, with her scholar's duty and condescending bullshit. If they hadn't shared a womb and been thick as thieves for much of their childhood, she'd drive him insane.

Truth is, though, Evie would just turn it around on him. _Oh, now who is letting feelings get in the way? Oh, was the heist your excuse for going out together alone last night? Oh, shall I change my focus from bus companies and the national economy to decriminalizing homosexuality, so that my brother might avoid being hung for sodomy?_

"That was clever," Jacob says, because she'll bristle if he treats her wittiness as quaint. "Maybe you can condescend our enemies to death."

Evie ignores his, but he sees her make a face in the mirror.

"Jacob, could you take your leave so I can finish dressing in peace?" she says, curtly.

Jacob does her one better. He moves to the door to go, and when he slides open the door he hollers: "Greenie!"

Evie turns in her seat sharply.

"Jacob," she hisses. _What do you think you're doing?_

"Greenie!" Jacob hollers again. "Greenie, my dear sister needs a hand with her corset, I thought you might be interested!"

"Jacob!" Evie hisses again. Her freckled face is flushing at the very apples of her cheeks. She says it now: "What do you think you're doing?!"

Jacob stays in the doorway, looking down the length of the car with a big old smirk. Henry Green is some twenty feet down the hall, his hands on the bookcase, his expression mortified. So Indians _do_ blush, Jacob thinks gleefully. 

"I'm serious, Greenie," Jacob says.

"Mr. Frye," Henry replies, measured and careful. "That is— that would not be appropriate."

"She doesn't have dressing maids," Jacob says. "She is adept at doing it herself, but we all know how she enjoys your company."

Something passes by his nose, so close he nearly feels it graze his skin, even though it is only the air on his face. The throwing knife is embedded in the door, and he glances at Evie, who has another knife between her fingers.

She gives him an utterly hateful look, but hateful is relative between twins like them. They drive each other to the ends of the earth, and yet they would never jump without the other. Jacob grins and Evie bristles and Jacob dances back across the line: "Did I say company? Ah, that tongue of mine — I meant your professional excellence and commitment to the Creed."

Evie fixes him with a look that is so much like their father's old face: unimpressed but tolerant, exuding disappointment and warmth at the same time. Jacob loves that look. It's the look that means he is getting away with petty nonsense. It is, perhaps, the only line he merely toes instead of blazing by. 

"Out, Jacob," she says, and out he goes, the knife still in the door. He makes a mental note to tell Agnes that it was his doing — preserving his sister's status as the golden child, of course.

"Mr Frye," Henry says. "Was that really necessary?" 

Jacob shrugs. 

"As necessary as the air I breathe, Greenie," Jacob says.

Henry just sighs into his book, and Jacob sallies off. Better shit to do –– like Ned, for example.

 


End file.
